Procession

I fully admit this is the pause before I do something else. But there is value in silence. There is absolute in a vacuum.  And there is this in the space between things.

There was once a muse. And then there wasn’t.  And in the absence, obsession was revealed.  I know now I am prone to these things.  The fancy of notion and the promise of destiny.  Things that are not harmful in their own, but left unchecked burdens the notioner to a place of poison. And I can’t even fathom where the subject suffers.

But I miss the muse, a muse.

And just like that, I am amused by the language.